


bigger than our skin

by softambrollins



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bathtubs, Beards (Facial Hair), Bickering, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hair Washing, Haircuts, Long Hair, M/M, Quarantine, Self-Isolation, Touching, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softambrollins/pseuds/softambrollins
Summary: Seth's in the tub one afternoon in the middle of the week when Dean just walks into the bathroom and says, "You're getting a haircut."Seth just stares at him. It's definitely not the strangest thing Dean's said or done this week, and probably not eventodayalone, but it's still pretty up there."What, is itbotheringyou?" Seth says, with a raised eyebrow, flipping his hair behind him dramatically. No matter what they're doing, Dean hands usually invariably find their way into Seth's hair, so he definitely hasnotbeen complaining about the extra few inches of length over the last couple weeks.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	bigger than our skin

Seth's in the tub one afternoon in the middle of the week when Dean just walks into the bathroom and says, "You're getting a haircut."

Seth just stares at him. It's definitely not the strangest thing Dean's said or done this week, and probably not even _today_ alone, but it's still pretty up there. 

"What, is it _bothering_ you?" Seth says, with a raised eyebrow, flipping his hair behind him dramatically. No matter what they're doing, Dean hands usually invariably find their way into Seth's hair, so he definitely has _not_ been complaining about the extra few inches of length over the last couple weeks.

"Well, you keep bitching about it, so least I could do is make myself useful. What else do I have to do?" Dean says casually. But as casual as Dean acts most of the time, one thing Seth's learnt about him, over the years and especially during the last few months and weeks, is that everything he does has a meaning. 

"Plus, I'm kinda sick and tired of waking up choking on hair every other day, you know?" he adds a moment later.

"I think you might just have to live with that," Seth says, folding his arms on the ledge of the tub and propping his chin up on them to smirk at him smugly. 

"Maybe I should take a little more off than your usual," Dean retorts, brandishing a pair of scissors that he seemingly procured from somewhere in the house and that Seth forgot he even owned.

"Fuck off, Ambrose," Seth says, rolling his eyes, turning away from him again.

"I'm not joking. It should make things a lot easier," Dean says evenly.

" _Please_ ," Seth says dismissively. "You know you'd hate that even more than I would."

Dean just shrugs in concession.

"Okay, but we're still doing it," he says, pointing the scissors at him in a vaguely threatening manner.

But he rests them down on the sink for now and right on cue, he walks over behind him and slides one of his hands up into Seth's slightly damp hair, fingertips running over his scalp just the way he likes it. He lets out a sigh, eyes falling shut, as he leans into his touch, sinking down deeper into the water, head falling back over the lip of the tub behind him as Dean cradles it gently in his palm. It's always been one of Dean's weird idiosyncrasies, tangling his fingers in Seth's hair to draw him in or keep him close. Whether they were in the middle of a war or embracing in the aftermath, it's a steadying action, like it calms him down. Like it's something safe and familiar. And it's comforting to Seth too, Dean's strong, solid hands rooting him firmly into his own skin and into the earth. No one's ever known Seth's body or how he likes to be touched the way Dean does, without having to say a word. Having something to hold on to when they're in the middle of _other_ intimate activities is another reason Seth knows he'll never make good on his threats.

Dean keeps stroking his fingers over his scalp and through his locks for a while longer until Seth's basically purring like a kitten and willing to do whatever he says. And fuck, he should've known that was his plan all along.

He finally lets go and Seth misses the contact instantly, head jerking upright as his eyes fly wide open, frowning up at him.

But then he just comes around and perches on the side of the tub next to him, grabbing a bottle of Seth's expensive shampoo that he hates and decrys at every given opportunity. Seth sits up straighter, twisting his body towards him, so that he can look him right in the eyes. Dean gets his hair a bit more saturated with water before massaging copious amounts of shampoo into his scalp and over his wet curls. Seth just stays there, eyes closed, head bowed, as he gently kneads his fingers over his hair. Totally and completely trusting and pliant. Sometimes he thinks he'd do whatever Dean wanted, he'd follow him anywhere without question, and it's not reckless or crazy anymore. It's not obsession or self-destruction, even though it might have felt that way in the past. It's just — pure and utter happiness. Contentment. Dean's his home. Not this house or this town or this planet. Not even the ring and all the arenas across the world that he's given everything his whole life to perform in. It could all go away and it wouldn't change anything. This is all he needs.

Seth remembers first meeting Dean and thinking that he'd never touched anything with any kind of tenderness before. Maybe part of him wanted to be the first, then, before he even realised it. Wanted things he never thought he'd have. Just because of who he was. He thought it was in their blood. Something toxic and innately _unlovable_. Maybe their broken pieces just fit together, and that's why they bonded. They were mirror images of each other. Maybe they were just different flavours of the same kind of fucked-up.

He didn't think either of them had it in them to be this gentle, to stay, to make things work. It used to scare him to death, the idea of being with one person forever, getting tired of them or them getting tired of him eventually. Because that's how it always happens. No one ever stays. Nothing ever lasts. Seth's been trying to outrun the inevitability of that truth for his entire life and it was always Dean who was there to drag him back to solid ground. 

Nothing ever lasts but here Dean is anyway, a living, breathing contradiction of everything he's ever believed.

Part of him was kind of apprehensive about being all alone in a house, just the two of them, for weeks and months on end, but everything with Dean is like some new adventure. He thinks the monotonous drone of suburbia is fascinating after the insane life he's led. Even the most mundane things. It's kind of ridiculous that for them, after all the blood and carnage and risking life and limb for half of their lives, the most exciting thing now is just this — total normalcy, domesticity, just _being_ , existing. Together. Finding out how their lives intersect away from the wild, bizarre world that brought them to each other.

He hasn't gotten bored yet. Maybe it's impossible for them.

When Dean's done lathering the shampoo into his entire head of hair, he rinses it out under the handheld shower head. And then he starts applying conditioner. The process is more languid and meticulous and takes a lot longer this time. Dean working the conditioner around and deep into each strand and carefully detangling his hair, piece by piece, with his fingers. He wonders if Dean's probably getting restless now, because he's fucking terrible at sitting patiently doing anything, but it almost feels like he's enjoying it. So Seth just stays there as the water goes cold, staring at Dean as he goes about his ministrations, neither of them saying a word. Like he wouldn't rather be anywhere else. It feels like the whole world is just quieter, especially right now, but Seth's always been perfectly content with quiet when it's just him and Dean.

It feels like it goes on for hours. Time is weird now too. But time is always weird with Dean. It feels like they've been doing this forever and yet every single day with him just flies by at the same time. Like they're slipping out of his grasp. He wants to hold on to it. Keep it, keep _him_ , for as long as he's allowed to.

"Is it weird that this is really hot?" Seth eventually asks, breaking the absolute silence. He sounds like he's in a daze. He almost feels intoxicated and he'll blame the humidity in the bathroom and the heady aromas filling the air and Dean's fucking _hands_ touching him with so much love and care and attention like he's the only thing he ever wants to touch like this ever again until he dies.

Dean just laughs at him and he splashes him with water in response.

*

When he's done, he just rinses out his hair again and washes the conditioner off his hands and gets up, dries them off, grabs the scissors he'd left over on the sink.

"Come on, we need real sunlight to do this properly," he tells him cryptically.

"What?" Seth asks, but he's already disappeared out the door and down the hallway.

Seth gets out the tub, unstops it so the water can drain out and grabs his towel. 

He goes over to the sink, dripping water onto the tiled floor. He wipes away the steam fogging up the mirror with the back of his hand and stares at himself for a long moment. He starts gently patting the towel over his hair, drying off the excess moisture, slowly tracing over his own features with his eyes. It's strange that although such a big part of his career and life has been about what he can do with his body, sometimes he doesn't feel like it really _belongs_ to him. It's not him; he's more and he's less and he's something else entirely. His body's just a facade, a grand deception. Something he built up over time to present to the world. To hide behind. 

Sometimes he gets so caught up in his head, tangled up in his own thoughts, that he ceases to exist as a physical entity in space and time. But Dean's always there to bring him back to himself. Everything between him and Dean has been physical, from the very beginning, it's hard for them to express what they feel in words so actions work better. But it's always been more than that, than fighting or sex or just the grounding effect of Dean standing next to him shoulder-to-shoulder. Sometimes he still feels Dean inside of him when he's not even touching him. It's heavy and warm and sometimes it _hurts_. But in a good way. Like he's so full that he can't contain all of it. Like there's no room left to feel anything else. But then Dean touches him or kisses him or looks at him and it's okay again. He can let it all go. He can breathe again. And he doesn't know if he can live without that.

A year ago, he'd been so uncertain and worried. That things would never be how they were ever again. That he and Dean would probably drift apart and realise maybe they didn't have that much in common anyway, that it was just their unusual, intense circumstances that kept them together, that maybe they were never really meant to be. That time and distance would ultimately kill them, the way nothing else seemed able to. But that's not what happened.

It was hard for a while, being away from each other, but they made sure that it never wore away at them. That they could always feel each other even when they were no longer by each other's sides. They've grown and learned a lot in the last couple years. It's almost like they're different people now. He doesn't think they'd be able to do this six years ago or even three years ago. They know what they have now, they know how much it means. And they know that they deserve it. All of it. Finally. 

And maybe it's even better now. Because Dean's happy, really happy, for the first time in a long time. He's like someone new, reborn. Older and younger and freer. The person Seth always saw and wanted him to be. Seth feels like he's getting to know him all over again. And being able to share that with him is worth more than he can even describe. So, it _works_. It's been tried and tested and strained and almost broken multiple times. But they're still here. And their relationship is stronger than ever.

He goes back to the bedroom, throws on some clean clothes and wanders off in the direction of the front door to see what new, crazy shenanigans Dean is scheming up now.

*

Dean grabs him when he emerges onto the front porch and starts positioning him where he wants him, where the light is supposedly best. 

"Do we really have to do this out here?" he says, looking around warily. He feels oddly self-conscious, like the whole neighbourhood can see them and this whole circus act. Even though everyone's inside their houses currently and there are no cars or pedestrians on the street. Dean looks like he doesn't care, though, which makes sense. The neighbours have all gotten used to him being around in the last couple months. And he even made friends with the old lady down the street and her dog. He drops off treats for him everytime he comes back from a grocery run. He swears Dean Ambrose is never going to stop surprising him until the day they put him in the ground.

"Hey, this is my show, okay? You agreed. So we're doing it _my_ way," Dean says firmly. 

Seth lets out an exasperated sigh. "God, I should've known living with you would be just as bad as being your tag partner."

Dean scoffs at that. "Yeah, because _I'm_ the control freak in this relationship."

Dean takes a comb and carefully parts his wet hair down the middle and then runs it through both halves of hair until it's almost completely straight and free of knots. And then he brushes them both forward, draping over his forehead, covering his eyes, until they meet at the centre line of his face, the ends dancing right below his chin.

And then Dean reaches for the scissors and turns back to him.

"I feel like you're gonna stab one of my eyes out. Should I start dialling 911?" he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

"Don't be a fucking baby, Rollins. And stop moving so much, for fuck's sake. Do you _want_ me to stab you?" 

"Okay. _Jesus_ ," he says, repocketing his phone and trying to stay as still as possible.

Seth stands there, head bowed slightly, trying not to flinch. It kind of feels like some weird form of supplication. He watches Dean's movements carefully through his curtain of dark hair. He seems to be utterly focused on his task and he slowly starts trimming the edges of his hair, using his other hand to bring the strands together in front of his face and get even cuts. He goes all the way around his hair, snipping pieces off. There's some method to this, not just madness. It kind of feels like he knows what he's doing. 

Almost like he picks up on Seth’s unspoken train of thought, which happens way too frequently now for him to even be startled, Dean explains, "I used to cut my own hair back in the day."

"Oh, that makes _so_ much sense," Seth bursts out at once. He remembers the unfashionable, jagged emo haircut he had when they first met before he came to FCW. 

"Shut up, Seth. You weren't much better yourself with your cool, edgy Glamour Kills shirts," he says mockingly. 

"I don't know. I think I caught at least _one_ person's attention back then," Seth says significantly.

"You know, I used to think all dudes with long hair were grade-A assholes," Dean admits. "Including myself for a while there."

"At least I never dyed my hair pink," Seth replies. "So, what about me? Am I an asshole too?"

"Well, there's always an exception," Dean says gently. "But you're still an asshole."

Seth can't help but chuckle at that. "Fair enough."

When he's done making sure all the ends are the same length, he drags the comb back through his hair until it all falls behind Seth's ears again. 

Seth just blinks at him as Dean comes back into focus in front of him. Somehow he survived this trauma.

"So, _there_. See, you still have all your body parts. What a drama queen." 

Dean disappears inside again for a moment, and Seth just tosses his hair around because he can't help it. He feels lighter already. He pulls out his phone again, looks at himself in the selfie camera. It doesn't look terrible at first sight. He's almost impressed. His hair hits right at his shoulder again, where it should be.

Dean comes back outside with a broom and sweeps all the hair trimmings littering the porch deck into a ziplock bag.

"What are you gonna do with that?" Seth asks him, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I don't know, we'll find some use for it," Dean says with a mischievous smile.

"Gross," Seth says, shaking his head and going back inside.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Rollins," Dean calls from behind him.

*

"You know what, you didn't do a half-bad job of it," Seth tells him as he surveys himself properly in the bedroom mirror. "Maybe I could cut _yours_ now."

Dean's fringe has started growing out again recently and the sides and back of his head could use a razor and even though he acts like it doesn't bother him, Seth knows it's probably driving him crazy. Seth misses having something to grab onto in bed sometimes but for the most part, he prefers the new look. It's more _Dean_ than the stringy, emo do of his youth. He looks older now, meaner but sexier. It somehow makes the softer moments even more unexpected and precious. 

"Fuck no. My hair's been through enough," he says stubbornly.

Seth knows there's no room for argument there. 

"I could trim your beard, though. Return the favour?" he tells him sweetly, and he's not ashamed to admit that he lays on the puppy-dog eyes really thick, to what he knows from experience are irresistible levels.

Dean's very particular about his facial hair, and Seth gets it. He's the same. If it gets too long, it gets irritating and scratchy and he's usually not into Seth touching his beard more than he needs to. It's definitely still sort of a strange experience, kissing someone else who has a beard, thick, coarse hair against his face and in other places. But as he's gotten used to it, there's something appealing and enticing about it. The texture and friction providing a whole new realm of sensation. Opening up all these different nuances between soft and rough that already comes so naturally to them. He thinks that if Dean lost the beard, he'd be just as annoyed as Dean would be if he chopped all his hair off. 

"Okay," he agrees finally.

They go back into the bathroom and stand over the sink. Seth grabs the clippers and adjusts them to Dean's preferred settings. 

"Careful with the goods, okay?" Dean says quietly, and Seth just nods.

He tips his head back and lets Seth slowly run the blade over the planes of his cheeks and jaw, turning his head and adjusting every so often so he can reach easier and not miss any spots. It doesn't take long, as he's just cleaning up the straggly, excess hair and smoothing everything out until it's neat and level and satisfying to the touch. 

"Done," Seth says, setting down the clippers and Dean looks at himself appraisingly in the mirror. It's still thick like they both like it, but it's just tidier and well-groomed now.

"Well, we're not actually done _yet_ ," he amends and he turns and leaves him there before Dean can ask any questions.

When he comes back, he's bearing his entire collection of beard products. Conditioners, oils, tonics, of many various health benefits and scents, some even organic. It's a point of pride, honestly.

"Seriously?" Dean says, almost offended. He's considerably less fond of it.

"Hey, I have to take care of the money-maker," he says, rubbing his own beard, chin pointed up at him. "And now it's _my_ show."

Dean sighs and goes to grab one of the many bottles out of his hands but Seth stops him. "Wait."

He extracts one of the finer beard oils from the rest and opens it. It has an earthy, woody scent that is very _Dean_ to him. He pours some into his palm, rubs it into both hands.

And then he reaches up and slides his fingers into the lush, newly-trimmed hair on Dean's face and it feels _really_ good, somehow. And apparently to Dean too because he makes an involuntary sound in his throat that's almost a growl and it surprises both of them. Oh, so he's _into_ that. Seth sinks his fingers even deeper into Dean's beard, massaging the oil thoroughly into the short hairs. And Dean just goes boneless against him, the way he never is. Seth swallows hard, barely breathing now. He keeps one hand on his jaw and reaches around and presses his lips to the other side of his face instead, runs his tongue over the line of his jaw, and then his teeth.

Dean finally responds then, all at once, and he grabs Seth firmly by the hips and turns them around so he's pinning him against the sink instead. Seth keeps his mouth firmly planted on his skin, moves down from his jaw to kiss a hot trail down his neck.

Dean slips his hands back around his hips to curve around his ass and he hoists him up onto the sink in one motion, sliding in between his legs, and capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

Seth wraps his arms tightly around his neck to pull him in closer, wraps his legs around Dean's waist like they belong there. They kiss hard and desperate and hungry, Dean's hands on the sides of his face and grasping at his hair as he licks into his mouth. Seth can feel the oil on his skin, can taste the mossy bitterness of it and _Dean_ on his tongue.

He reaches down now between them and slips his hand into the front of Dean's underwear, curls his fingers around him, still slick and soft from the oil. He rubs his thumb over the head of his dick and Dean moans into his mouth and presses closer to him, Seth's legs clenching even tighter around him, keeping him in place.

Dean hastily shoves his pants down and off his legs and then Seth's, pulling Seth's hips in closer to him, almost off the edge of the sink, so they can line up properly. He reaches for the bottle that Seth had dropped before and empties more into his hand, uses it to slick himself up. The entire bathroom smells like a forest floor now. He slowly slides an oil-slick finger into Seth and he opens up for him so good the way he always does and he quickly adds another and then another until Seth's desperately yelling at him to _Just fuck me, please._

So Dean obliges. Seth has a death-grip on his waist and his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as he thrusts into him, fast and deep. Every muscle in his body contracts every time Dean pushes all the way into him, like he wants to keep him there. The sink's rattling around under them and it never was meant to take this sort of strain and Seth’s sure they're gonna break something and destroy the bathroom and they're gonna have a burst pipe in the middle of a fucking lockdown and his entire house is gonna be flooded. But he doesn't care. He just looks at Dean and Dean looks back at him, eyes dark with want, lips parted and wet and red. Seth leans in and kisses him once more, open-mouthed and biting, wanting to taste him, as he feels himself getting so, so close to the brink. He has one hand stroking his own dick between them and Dean wraps his fist around Seth's now. He moves them faster over him as he hits the pleasure point deep inside of him, once, twice, three times, eyes squeezing shut and head flung back as he comes hot and heavy inside him with a hoarse shout. And then with a startled gasp, Seth's spilling into their hands and over his stomach, a sticky mess of come and oil.

Dean just tucks his head into Seth's neck for a moment, presses a sloppy kiss to his skin, before he pulls out and disentangles himself from Seth's body, his legs shaky. Seth drops back down onto the floor with a sharp exhale and reaches out for him again. They're both warm and sweaty and loose-limbed, clutching at each other in the muggy, confined space.

"Fuck, it feels and smells like someone was fucking in the Amazon in here," Dean exclaims, eyes wide like he's almost in awe.

Seth reaches out and touches a hand to his face again, his beard already feeling softer against his palm. He just looks up at Dean slightly incredulously. "Shit. I didn't know you were so into that."

Dean shakes his head. "I didn't know either," he says breathlessly. 

They just stare at each other for a moment and then they both simultaneously dissolve into delirious laughter. 

*

Seth wakes up to the unmistakable sensation of Dean's warm fingers finding their way into his hair. He feels him kiss his shoulder blade, his breath soft and gentle on his skin, fingers slowly running along the knobs of his spine. 

He turns over onto his back, stares up at the ceiling, curls spilling onto the pillow, framing his face. It's dry now and it's fluffed up a considerable amount since last night.

"You look like a lion," Dean mutters.

Dean presses his body up against his side, one heavy arm thrown over his bare stomach, brushes a light kiss against his cheek, tucks his nose into his hair right above his ear. Seth hears as he inhales deeply. 

"Your hair smells really fucking good," he says, like it almost makes him angry.

"It's all for you, baby," Seth tells him with a loose, sleep-hazy smile.

Dean rolls over so he's on top of him now. He buries his face into his neck, beards rubbing together, and it's soft and slightly ticklish at the same time, a pleasant sensation. And then he moves his head down so his cheek's resting against his chest. 

"Sometimes I feel like I could just fucking _devour_ you," he says, voice rough, biting a hard kiss into his collarbone. "Like I just want to get inside your skin. So I become a part of you. And you become a part of me."

Dean raises up to look at him, holding his body above Seth's, thighs bracketing his hips, hands tracing warm patterns over his stomach and sides and waist. 

Sometimes Seth knows how he feels. Even when Dean's actually inside of him and they can't physically get any closer, it feels like their skin is an impenetrable barrier that Seth just wants to crash through and get _closer, closer, impossibly closer._ It's pretty wild that even being stuck in close quarters with Dean all day every single day hasn't made his relentless desire for him any less intense. Maybe it's made it even worse. 

Sometimes the weird shit Dean says hits way too close to home and sums up exactly what he's thinking, all his deepest and most secret wants and fears. Laid bare. Like Dean can see it all just looking him right in the eyes like he is now. Sometimes it's best to just deflect it with a joke when it's just too much. To talk about or feel or need. 

"Is that a new kink? Do we have to talk about this?" he deadpans.

"It's not, like, a sex thing, you pervert. I was trying to be all poetic and shit. You're such an asshole."

Seth pulls him down to him and Dean just goes without any resistance at all, kissing him slow and lazy and long, sighing into his mouth, his hands threading into his hair, one of Seth's legs caught between Dean's. He thinks maybe if they stayed like this long enough, they might become one and the same. Melt into each other, body and mind and soul. 

"Love you too," Seth says tenderly against his mouth. "Asshole."


End file.
